“Just us,” he finally breathes, feeling his shoulders sag with the strain of holding himself upright for so long. Carefully, but tiredly, he collapses onto the bed beside her, taking Finn up and cooing softly as he attempts a fuss. Calmed, he settles into Gideon’s arms, procuring a glint of pride from his father’s eyes.

He leans back against the headboard, closing his eyes and breathing a contented sigh. “How are you feeling? Is everything healing properly? No post partum?”

He doesn’t dare stray far from the house. Quinn is about ready to pop, and has slowly deteriorated all day. Still, Gideon is anxious for his wife, so when he disappears for a quick smoke, he’s sure to remain in hearing distance.

When she calls for him, he’s there instantly.

“Come on, back inside.” He supports her by the elbow, helping her waddle over the threshold as he gathers himself for what is to come. Instructions are given to Mary to assemble everyone and everything that they would need.

Gideon’s smile falters slightly as she watches her practically squirm in her discomfort. Still, his jaw sets, acting as a focusing point to keep the worry at bay. “Me, too,” he finally utters, lost in his own mind.

“Done.” He c0cks a cheeky grin, bending slightly to kiss her temple, though his hand never lets up. Her swollen stomach moves slightly, procuring a cant of his head. Softly, he asks, “Do you think it will be today?”

An affectionate glance would be sent Quinn's way as she attempts to make herself comfortable. Wearily, he takes stock of her form, as the kid could come any day now. "Just rest," he urges, coming to rest next to her, a hand rubbing a soothing pattern into her lower back. "Need anything?"

Dempsey wrapped her arms tightly around the beautiful blonde and breathed in her familiarity. Her memories had been fading but as soon as her scent filled Dempsey’s being she felt at peace. Quinn wasn’t going to fade away. Dempsey wanted to hold onto her friend forever but knew that she couldn’t, she couldn’t because she wasn’t flush against Quinn, breast to breast. There was a wedge pushing her away. With wide eyes Dempsey untangled her arms from around the pregnant woman and took a step back to look at her belly in shock.

This couldn’t be.

This wouldn’t do.

Quinn couldn’t be with child. It seemed unfathomable and a rush of emotions rushed through her veins. Confusion, jealousy, anger, guilt. She didn’t want Quinn to be a mother, it just ruined everything if it were so. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she coughed through the acrid taste before forcing a smile to her face.

“Has it really been that long since I last saw you?” Dempsey brushed the curly locks away from her brown skin, hazel eyes darting between Quinn’s face and her belly.

She lingered back, hiding in the shadows and ducking behind houses and trashcans. She had stayed away as long as possible, but the seclusion was ebbing away at the small amount of sanity she had been holding onto. There was only so long a human could remain alone and not go mad from the silence. Dempsey had sat in her apartment for months, no television, no music, and no interaction with the human world. She had let herself sink into the comfort of her home, but for that past week her skin had been crawling and her mind had been singing for attention. The only friend she had was her journal but even that was beginning to fail her. The delicate words she had started to write only got sloppier until the pages were nothing more than dark splotches of ink with no meaning. Scribbles of her desperation.

It was time for her to escape the confinement she had set about herself. So she showered, clothed her body in clean linens and walked out to the streets. The fresh air had hit her like a ton of bricks and her head swirled with wooziness until she found her footing and her eyes adjusted to the natural lighting. There were so many things that she wanted to do, but the thing that rang the loudest in her head would take some work. She wandered the streets for hours before she finally was able to track down the beautiful blonde that had caused her to lock herself away like a mental patient. The pretty girl she so wanted to have all to herself but couldn’t. She hoped that the obsession would fade, but it only got stronger. Every waking moment she tried to draw the women in her head and remember every detail of her face ,but those memories were fading and Dempsey was forgetting what the women looked like. She must seek out her friend, shee only wanted to look. She just needed a glimpse to satisfy her cravings.

But things were never that simple. Once she was able to track down her friend she couldn’t just walk away. She followed her for blocks in the shadows and behind bins, and soon just the sight of her wasn’t enough. Dempsey wanted to be closer to her, to smell her, to count her freckles and how many teeth showed when she smiled. She needed to see every detail up close to memorize. When it seemed that Quinn’s pace was slowing down Dempsey could no longer hide in the shadows. She had to make herself know. She had to get closer.

“Qunnifer!” The pleasantness of her own voice surprised her but she couldn’t control the excitement. The butterflies were beating against her stomach and her lips pulled into a wide smile to release them. “It’s been so long!” Dempsey hollered to the women before jogging closer. “Fancy meeting you here.”

His eyes remain shut, though the questions procures a considering frown. "Just a year?" There's disbelief in his voice, but doing the math, he comes to the same conclusion. Humming contentedly as an arm snakes around her, he presses a kiss to her forehead. "A lot's changed. I'm amazed you've stuck with me."

She’s been through a lot of trauma, though. Just make sure she’s comfortable with it. Her scum father may have done more damage than we realize.
I know next to nothing about him, which is my concern. Tell Sam he’ll be staying with us while he gets settled. We don’t have a house for him. And if I need them to, yes. I need to keep an eye on him. The commune isn’t just going to take him in, even if he’s been a loyal customer. And I want to make sure he doesn’t go running off into the night, should he not like what he sees. That’s too dangerous for us.

Have you talked to her about this?
She may not want a birthday.
Is there more than one kind of houseguest? He’s a prospective member, by the name of Ignatius. Seems nice enough, but that almost makes me question his motives more. Apparently he’s been coming to the market frequently for the past couple weeks.

Gideon pops his head around the corner, curious gaze finding his wife practically doubled over laughing. “Quinn.” She doesn’t answer. ”Quinn.” Still nothing. Slightly annoyed, but humorously so, he crosses the distance and pulls the bud from her ear.

“Quinn,” he states again, incredulous laughter punctuating her name, “what are you being so loud over? Sam’s trying to sleep.”

Gross. We aren’t naming him after a cartoon.
I mean, if you want the spicy ones, I’ll sign the waiver for you.
I highly doubt they police it that extensively.
Or I could just get both.
That’s the smarter idea.
And extra celery.

As he closes the distance between himself and the house, the loud music permeates his ears and he can't help but grin. Quinn must be in a good mood today, something that had once been so few and far between, but now seemed to increase in frequency.

Gideon quietly lets himself in but barely makes it through the door before he stops dead in his tracks. For a moment, his heart stops; has he forgotten some important anniversary? Yet, as he takes in the decorations, his brow only furrows. World's Best Dad?

Riiiiiight.

That stupid Hallmark holiday.

For obvious reasons, it hadn't been a staple in his household, growing up. Still, he crosses over to the gift and extracts all the items. It makes his heart sink and his stomach gurgle unnaturally, but he plasters a smile on his face all the same.

He holds up the shirt and the onesie, his brow quirked humorously. "Cute," he cedes before pressing a soft kiss to his wife's cheek. "I hope you didn't do all of this by yourself."

Once again Tiber's thick thumbs paused over they virtual letters on the phone. His jaw set tight while his eyes scrolled past the words over and over again. No simple expression could encompass what he was feeling, or how heavy the blow was to the pit of his stomach. Tiber felt like it's contents were going to spill onto the hotel floor, but he chokes his nerves back down and tightens his fingers into a hard fist to keep his hands from shaking.

Quinnie
Wow Quinnie, that's amazing! We're so happy for you. Gideon must be ecstatic. Everyone has a past. I'm sure Tiber knows that you don't blame him for what happened...

Oh, uh...
~subconsciously twirls a strand of hair between her fingers~
That's not... I just meant...
~realizes her anxious quirk, detangles her hair hurriedly, looking sheepish~
People can be... unfriendly...
~sets her jaw~
I'm Maya, by the way.

Franki took a slow sip of coffee as the woman spoke. ' "You just look like you have it all figured out." ' Franki's hand went to cover her mouth as the half swallowed coffee threatened to escape as a laugh burst through.

At the beginning, he suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, but her last comment leaves him fuming and before he can stop himself, he’s reacting.

“Don’t be a martyr now, Quinn, ever since that kid was conceived, we’ve been gambling with its life. Have you forgotten who its grandfather is? Who its father is? This isn’t just idle sh-t to me. I truly believe that all this doctor bullsh-t will do more harm than good, but you do what you want with it. After all, it’s not going to grow up even remembering my face.”

Instantly, he whitens, jaw clenched. He’s said too much, but there’s no going back now.

He can feel the frustration rolling off her before she even opens her mouth. Before he responds, he takes a deep breath, letting some of his own tension escape with the air. This is delicate, and he’s not good with delicate.

“What are they going to do if it’s not healthy, Quinn? Tell us it’s not healthy? People have been having babies for centuries without doctors. I mean, come on, allergy testing? Pump the kid full of sh-t just to see if he reacts to the sh-t? Why does that make sense? This is just money-grabbing, and a way to be controlled.. But it’s not up to me, is it?”

He’s remarkably calm, considering. Gideon is no fool, he realizes his views are outlandish to anyone deemed to be normal. But they’re still his, and subjecting his child - and wife - to who knows what does not sit well with him.

Quirk
Why does there need to be an appointment for this? You know when we’ll know if it’s a boy or girl? When it’s born...
I don’t like doctors, Quinn. I don’t trust them. But fine. I’ll meet you at the car.

Quirk
Again, this is how we do things, which is why I didn’t think we should be getting pregnant, but here we are.
You’re not having that baby in a hospital. You and it will not be welcome back. You really want to alienate the child before it’s even born?

Quirk
Don’t guilt me. I know you’re not meaning to, but that’s what’s happening. Would you like me to just come out and say it? Invite her here. Just do it. She can’t be any more dangerous than anything we’ve already seen.
What do you want? I’ll go get it.

While the sentiment is true, he still feels the pulse of anger just below the surface. It’s not toward Quinn, not really. But he knows the conversation can’t continue; for his part, he’s not in the right mindset.

Staring down his own instability, he fights the urge to hurl the phone across the room. He knows she wants to say more, but she’s biting her tongue, and for some inexplicable reason, it infuriates him.

"No," he insists, rising from his seated position beside her and tucking the paper under his arm, "I'll take care of everything. Why don't you take a quick power nap, I'll come get you when everything's ready." Without waiting for confirmation, he presses a kiss atop her head and sets off about his business.

An hour later, he returns to find her in a deeper slumber than she'd surely meant to be in, but he can only imagine the exhaustion that comes with making a child from scratch. Softly, he shakes his head good-naturedly before waking her with a kiss. Her chocolate hues flutter open and he takes his cue to scoop her up in his capable arms.

Carrying her out to the garden, in a glade surrounded by redwoods, he sets her down gently on the blanket. Before her is a hearty spread of tomatoes, peppers, assorted berries, cured meats, a plethora of cheeses, and, of course, crackers. To wash it all down, he's brought a pitcher of lightly sweetened tea and some cold water bottles, just in case.

He lowers himself down next to her, clearly pleased with himself, and takes a moment to bask in the warming sun. Normally, Gideon doesn't like the encroaching summer, but he can certainly enjoy the freedom that comes with being away from New Orleans and the Flock of the Shepherd.

With an amused expression, he offers a sideways glance but otherwise doesn’t look up from the paper he’s half-heartedly reading. “Of course it’s getting bigger, that’s what we want, yes? A healthy, growing baby.”

At her defeated tone, he folds the paper neatly and gives her his full attention. “What would you like to replace the saltines? Anything your heart desires, you name it.” He’s no fool; it’s never as simple as another sleeve of crackers.

Franki enjoyed this time of day. It was "her" time. She sipped her coffee and people watched, making up stories about their lives or things they were thinking. She had been totally emersed in watching an old woman feeding birds when she heard the voice. She turned and faced the blonde as she tried to determine if she was speaking to her. Hell she had sat here on and off for over a month and never been spoken to.

"Welcome to the city, Quinn. I work for the LAPD, so if you ever need anything, you're welcome to give me a holler." Another wide grin, and then Rickie offers over business card. "Don't worry about being nervous, I get it."

Normally I would say I am almost positive but one never really knows. I could only answer the question honestly if I had seen him swing a wiffle ball bat. If he is able to do it as well as me then there is only one answer, if not.... Then definitely no.

“I love you, too,” he responds, the sentimental smile returning to his own voice. He’s anxious, there’s no denying it. But she is capable, and Noli adds a small amount of comfort to the situation. In the same token, however, she adds just as much uncertainty.

“I’ll try to call again tomorrow. Don’t bother trying this phone again. And watch out for yourself. He’s up to something, and no one comes above your safety.” There’s an inflection in his tone that is clear; she is not to toss aside her own well-being for anyone else.

With that, he shares a soft parting before ending the call and smashing the phone into the concrete, just as Ryan approaches. “Good timing,” the psychopath murmurs, “I need another one, as soon as possible...”

He is cut off by the commotion on the other end, and he presses the phone harder into his ear, as if that would somehow make it easier to hear. John is sick. Black eyes narrow, even as his heart hitches in his chest. There is something within him that demands urgency, and he almost jumps in the car and hightails it back to the commune. But there’s too much riding on him finding them a new home; he has to trust in Quinn’s abilities.

“Yeah, I heard it,” he mumbles absently, mind racing for an easy fix. But when it comes to John, there is no simple solution. He breathes a hefty sigh, hoping it would calm his frayed nerves. No such luck.

“Recruit Kyle to help you,” he says off-handedly, a sudden darker shift to his tone. “John trusts him, he’ll tell him anything, and Kyle knows what’s at stake.” At least, he better.

He smiles, a somewhat pained expression, but it's there nonetheless. At her question, his eyes find the two men he'd been traveling with: Ryan and James. It's unclear if they can be trusted, which is why he agreed to only take the pair. Two, he can handle. Anymore, and he has sheer numbers against him.

We've been looking for someone like you. Someone with a kindred mentality and the balls to follow-through. We can learn a lot from you...

"I think I have a lead," he finally breathes, the hint of a smile in his voice. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon, I promise. Just keep yourself safe, okay?"

A sigh of relief escapes him as she carries on, her voice bringing a small smile to his lips. A heavy weight lifts off his shoulders and he physically rolls off the tension. He leans back against the wheel of the car, his makeshift hideaway from the others concealing him for the time being.

“I’m fine,” he offers, brushing off her concern to replace it with his own. “What about you? How are you feeling? Is everything going okay?”

Leaning his head back after the message indicates it's been delivered, he barely has time to close his eyes before the device starts to vibrate. His eyes lock on the screen as he takes in the familiar number, a strange feeling of relief and dread mixing in his psyche. It doesn't have to be her, and if it's not...

Before the phone has time to stop ringing, he hits the answer button and brings it to his ear. Again, he hesitates, his voice catching in his throat before he finally chokes out her name.

It takes an unbearably long time for the call to go to voicemail, and Gideon blankly listens to the automated voice prompting him. His heart is racing as he tries not jump to conclusions. Doing the math, it makes sense that she would be in class. Yes, that must be it. It has to be.

Not totally convinced, but doing his best to keep a straight face, he contemplates a message to type out that wouldn't give him away to prying eyes. In the same token, he knows she's grown distrustful; if it's too vague, she might not respond at all. A conundrum.

Unknown Number
I saw Wyoming. It was beautiful.

It might at least keep them off his trail, and hopefully she'd get the message.

Gideon stares down at the burner clutched firmly in his hand. Ryan had presented it to him a couple hours ago, "just in case." On more than one occasion, this new follower and his compatriot had proven themselves loyal, but he can't trust anyone under the circumstances, so he hesitates.

A deep breath carries out the weight of some of his worries, if only to allow him a moment to process. What does he have to lose? His mind is plagued with the unknown of Quinn's well-being, so he hasn't slept restfully in a few nights. He can easily toss the phone, just as he has so many times before.

Plus, hearing her voice would do wonders for his morale.

From memory, he easily recalls the number that he'd whispered to himself countless times. The dial tone plays it's mournful sound as he waits with baited breath, unsure of what he'll do is she doesn't pick up.

Quinnifer
Yeah, well what are friends for right? You know, gotta protect each other from creeps and monsters. Haha. You’re a good friend too. Anyways, I think I need to go hunt down some more juice now.

Quinnifer So many questions. Being lonely is a simple side effect of my condition. Juice is just a crutch. And I suppose I could be in New York still, I haven’t left my residence for some time now. I've forgotten where I really am.

A low chuckle escapes him at her question. "I am the rightful leader." Yet even as he says it, Eiji's hateful gaze permeates his psyche, and suddenly his head is spinning once more.

Closing his eyes, he lets out a hard sigh. They have to leave as peacefully as possible, as loathe as Gideon is to let John disappear into the shadows. An enemy for a later day, as their time in New Orleans as come to a hasty end. "We have to give them an choice. Tomorrow is Sunday. I'll address the Flock. They have until I get back to decide. Then, we go our separate ways."

Again, he meets her with that hard stare, inebriated as he is. "You will protect yourself at all costs. You are the most important thing here. And if anyone asks, you know what to tell them..." His eyesight is going blurry, and he can feel himself losing consciousness, but he finds to hold on to his clarity. "I love you, Quinn. You do know that..."

He offers an apologetic smile before shaking his head slowly, sitting up even though his head is spinning. "Not yet, Quinn... I can't tell you yet." It's partially for their safety; the less she knows right now, the better. But there's a part of him that isn't ready to address it, so he's grateful for the convenience.

"I'm in danger here." His voice is steady even as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Someone has been documenting my every move. I don't know how, and I don't know how much information they have. All I know is I have to find us a new home. Tomorrow."

Grounding himself, he meets her gaze, concern evident in her chocolate hues. "I want to be better for you, Quinn. I'll be better. We'll start anew. We'll make a home for our child. And I'll find it for us, tomorrow." He nods effortlessly, as if resolve alone will solve all their problems.

He falls back into the grass once more, a low oof escaping him. "I'll fix everything... Tomorrow..."

The bottle of Suntory now holds a few swigs, Gideon having finally uncapped it. It had been a gift from Eiji a few years ago, and he hadn't found a good excuse to open it. Now seems just as good a time as any, and the garden is always inviting.

The cut left on his cheek still bled freely, as he couldn't muster up the resolve to give a damn. He always knew this day would come, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. The loss he feels is great, much deeper than any he'd ever felt. Eiji's promise is knit deeply in the walls of his mind, and now more than ever, he must come to terms with the fact that his days are numbered. The future of Quinn and their unborn child needs to be ensured, and immediately. Eiji couldn't kill him this time and while he can honestly say he trusts the man, he can't trust his moral compass. He could pass those files off to the cops tonight, and Gideon's fate could be signed as early as the following day.

Downing the rest of the whiskey, he animatedly tilts back too far and plops down on the ground, hard. In his drunken state, the pain doesn't really register, though it's sure to smart tomorrow. He rubs at his face, as if trying to sober up, and pulls out his phone. His eyes rove over the texts he's received earlier in the day. You should really stop hiding the Cheetos on top of the cabinets. A grin forms on his face, but quickly melts into a frown. Not even an hour ago, and he'd offered his life up, not even a thought to how it would affect her. God, she deserves much more than what he can give.

Sighing, he types out a quick text before falling back onto the grass. The world spins a little faster than usual, but it's a nice reprieve to the turmoil he feels.

Quirk
You mean, the night with the detective? So, you got drunk enough that you think you might have sent a text that you don’t remember to a potential psychopath? With a detective in the room wth you?

Have you ever had the urge to do something but then decided to do something else. Like kill somebody, but instead decided to drink juice. Because right now I’m drinking juice a lot of juice but I really, really want to kill someone.

"Uh..." A face is pulled at her worry, as he can't quite seem to grasp what she means. Just because he doesn't want a baby doesn't mean he'd stop wanting her. Or is that normal?

"I'll always want you." Even as he says it, his voice is far away. It makes the sentiment no less true; he simply can't fathom what they're going to do with a child in a cult. Then again, why would they have to do anything? There are plenty of kids in the Flock, and they seem...fine.

A shudder rolls through him, and he gulps down the rest of the hot drink. There is a long pause before she inquires as to his well-being, and he can only meet her gaze, his grip on the mug tightening all the more. What a loaded question.

"I don't know," he finally manages, coupling it with what seems to be a shrug. Nothing doesn't seem quite accurate, as he's certain he's feeling something. "You... How are you feeling?"

His voice comes out in a croak, and he takes a large swig of the black coffee that may or may not have a few hearty splashes of whiskey in it. It burns all the way down, for more reasons than one.

A child... in this world...

He wants to be happy; he knows full-well that he’s taking joy away from Quinn, who should feel ecstatic by such news. She’d been trying to soften him to the idea since they got together, and he’s not foolish enough to honestly believe that she did this on purpose. The only thing she could love more than them is a baby produced by them, and she wouldn’t want it here, of all places.

Or perhaps she did this to sway their leaving... No, he shouldn’t think like that...

Quirk
Magnolia is a strange name, too.
This is your thing, remember. If I come, I’ll just be a crutch for you to stand on. And personally, I don’t know that bringing a new person into the mix is a good idea right now, but that’s not my call.
You got this.

QuinnWell, it means I can meet you at anytime.Or any place.I quit my job.Bought a second place in the city.I've lost my damn mind.Whatever is easiet for you, but if anything we can meet at NOLA City Bark, I take Sabine there often.Weekdays are quiet.

Abruptly, he rises from the chair again, and this time, it falls back from sheer force. “Just make the appointment,” is offered, followed by incoherent mumbling that even he can’t make out. His mind is in a whirlwind, having been presented with something he’d never thought he’d be presented with.

He fidgets. His fingers idly drum, his leg bounces up and down, and he can feel the creep-crawly feeling on the back of his neck. This was never was supposed to happen, they'd talked about it. And while Quinn wasn't overly thrilled, he thought they'd been on the same page.

Truthfully, he's blind-sided.

Mind racing, he considers her words. Everything in him wants to stay as far away from that appointment as possible, but there's a sliver of his conscience that tells him to be there for Quinn. And, honestly, to hear the words - one way or another - for himself. But...

"Will they ask for any of my personal information?" Gideon's never stepped foot inside a hospital, and he doesn't know anything about their operation. This sort of thing just makes him...paranoid.

His eyes widen and then narrow. She’s late; just what they need. His mind goes in different directions, thinking of the vasectomy he should’ve gotten and a baby that made his head spin.

He downs the rest of his drink and sinks back into the chair he’d only just left. A refill is due, and he pours the whiskey into the glass before downing half of that as well. He stares forward, his expression blank.

Again, he’s stopped just as his fingers touch the doorknob. He turns back to her, his eye twitching just slightly. “Why would you need to go to the doctor? Are you sick?”

Quinn has showed no signs of ailment, yet Gideon refuses to accept that there’s a chance she might actually be pregnant. It’s not in the cards for him, nor does he have any kind of desire for such a burden on them. Not to mention the high possibility of it carrying on the lovely, psychotic family genetics...

Gideon leans back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid before taking a large swig. The whiskey burns all the way down, but it buys him a bit of time to ponder Quinn’s request.

The Flock is growing colder, and while Quinn blames herself, Gideon blames his father. There are plenty of people here still loyal to him, and his presence is a slight against their influence. Bringing an outsider in may prove to help Quinn adapt, but it could also put them even further in the ground.

“No,” he finally states before another drink is taken. “It’s too risky. They already don’t trust us.”

Rising from the table, his glass clutched firmly in hand, he moves to step out. Something stops him, and his gaze falls to his struggling wife. They had never discussed her condition outright, and he’d just taken to assuming that she was lying. But... “You know, maybe you should. They can believe she’s a nurse or something...” It’s an absent-minded thought, one she can take or leave as she will.

Her own easy smile met Quinn's easily; it was a blessing to be sure to find someone in this city that Noli had some much in common with.

Small town teacher (and from the way Noli's gut was reacting, secrets just as big as her own) in the big ol' city.

Kismet.

"Your home sounds lovely. Despite being surrounded by my family, we're not that close." It was an inoccuous comment, something that she was sure the other woman needed; more than that, Noli wouldn't pry further. She might not like it, but she did trust her gut. "My number there, you'll call or text if you need anything, right? It doesn't have to be about Emeline. I have to go see my uncle, but I would love to continue this sometime. Talk shop? Or anything, for that matter. It was really wonderful meeting you."

Noli hesitated before she started to move back into the crowd and onto facing her demons; something told her this blonde, needed more help than her sister did and for someone like Magnolia, she couldn't just leave without making sure she'd do what she could to help. "Quinn, just a phone call. That's all it takes. Whatever you need."

Noli couldn't help but to silently agree that perhaps the discussion of Detective Norse should come to an end; neither woman seemed to know him well enough to comment, but of course, that wouldn't stop her from using the information later. Until then...

"Oh, yes! It was all I ever wanted to do. We left Louisiana when I was fourteen because of Katrina, but all I wanted to do was come back and help in some way. I'm good at it and love the younger ages; they are so blissfully unaware of the world. Just full of wonder. To shape that, it's great isn't it?"

Honestly, the brunette could go on forever about teaching; books, art, methods. She loved it all. But her new friend was shifting the conversation and onto another subject that was quite safe for them to discuss without Noli blurting out anything that could implicate her in a body dump.

"It's a little ol' shrimping town about two hours from here. Nothing huge, but not too small. Mostly it's filled with my family, in fact, I live in my grandparent's old house. Listen to me go on and on, what about you, where is your tiny town?"

Quinn
I told you that this wouldn't be easy, that they wouldn't be receptive. If you want out, that's fine, I will meet you in Wyoming. But they followed us before, what's to stop them from doing it again?

"I don't read the news here myself, mostly because I don't live here either, but since Em went missing, I figured it was necessary, that maybe I'd find something in the papers. I haven't met this detective yet, but from the reporter's standpoint, he is the only connection. I shouldn't read too much into it though, if he's a friend of yours, he would have to be kind."

If Noli had been like her sister, she might have realized it was concern for someone close to the other woman, but she was not Emeline, and completely clueless at times when it came to social cues. Part of it could have been because she really appreciated the kindness and despite her easy-going nature, people were not lining up to be part of her life; a friend, Noli could really use one. So, buttoning up her mouth about the good Detective Norse, it was an easy choice to make, move on to something less concerning.

"I think she would have liked you. I was never much like her, other than appearance, I think that was a disappointment, but it didn't stop her from leaving her house to me. Which is where I normally am; in Cocodrie, teaching, living, enjoying my excitement free life... until now."

Noli nearly internally groaned and just like her mouth being stuck on one topic, it was impossible to keep the disgruntled expression from shifting back across her face. She was broken record and it was her sister's fault. Noli was going to have to find her and then kill her herself just so she could go back home and live in peace.

A loose sigh from deep within his lungs escapes him as his eyes rove over the obituaries. His eye twitches at the corner, the expression on his face melting into a hard frown. He hadn’t heard from Quinn, so suffice it to say, she hadn’t heard the news.

Without explanation, he takes his leave from the meeting that had been dying down for fifteen minutes anyway. He’ll find Quinn at home, tidying up the kitchen and humming a soft tune, and his heart will sink that much further at the prospect of delivering such dire news.

“Quinn,” he breathes, but words won’t find him. Instead, he closes the distance and pulls her into a tight embrace. “Solomon...is dead.” It comes out drily, and he waits for the onslaught of emotion.

It’s a whispered plea, and even that makes his head pound. Honestly, he doesn’t remember how they got to bed, much less the amount they drank to get them to this state. Thinking about alcohol just makes his stomach churn. “‘It’s St. Patrick’s Day, Giddy,’” he repeats, his tone high and mocking, “‘we don’t get to let loose often.’ I’m never listening to you again.”

"My Grand-Mère used to say that. Well, not quite like that, she would say God is testing you or Satan is tempting you, figure it out. She wasn't quite... normal." Yes, Noli, let's tell the one person who seems to actually care how your family tree is full of nutters, completely endearing, really. She was really having issues in staying honest with herself, perhaps this was why it was so easy for odd facts about her family to roll off her tongue, but this was about something she had only read about. Still, she was trying to avoid the topic about Detective Norse, now that she knew they were friends, that would be exceedingly rude.

However, stressful situations were not something she was used to and so her mouth would blurt out exactly what was on her mind; no matter how insane the theory she had, all from an article and a name.

"I saw his name in the paper, an article, it seems like someone thinks that he has something to do with the disappearances."

Warmth, kindness; these things were not something Noli really experienced from the dregs of humanity, except for the little minds she adored, they were pretty much her only human contact other than the other teachers. Her family wasn't very close and she had chosen to focus far more on her studies growing up and now she was the poster child for avoiding any kind of emotional contact with another. It was no wonder that the young woman would be stunned by such a sweet gesture, Noli had some major issues and most of them were about to come pouring out, there was something about the blonde, she could not lie to her.

"She's been gone a month, I'm starting to think that I won't find her. I'm also starting to think the dead guy isn't that dead, I mean, there wasn't a lot of blood. Or any, I don't seem to recall. It couldn't be a coincidence that she'd disappear, screaming into her phone, on the very same day we disposed of a bod..."

Oh, dear.

"Heh... New play. It'll be great." At least her momentary lapse didn't affect the way she could think on her feet with the random strangers giving her odd looks during her micro-breakdown; hands would press into her eyes before another apologetic smile was given to Quinn. "Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. God is punishing me for this. I just know it. Hopefully, this doesn't happen when I camp outside of the police department, right?" Not only could her sister make her lose her mind when she was around, she was doing it while she was missing. Just grand.

Noli was completely nonplussed over the questioning about her lost sister, she had become accustomed to the general public giving her the brush off; a simple shake of the head and they were off as if she had never stopped them at all, but this was different. It would leave Noli staring, mouth agape momentarily before speckled eyes blinked the confusion away and her free hand would brush lank, humidity flattened tresses away from her face.

"I don't kn... She was supposed to be coming here. She was supposed to call." Magnolia Joudain was not one to over share and certainly not one that would unload on a stranger but the kindness unexpected had the young woman blurting out answers to an inquiry she really had no real response for and it didn't help that the local law enforcement was avoiding her calls.

"Emeline is always in trouble and I'm always bailing her out. I'm really sorry I disturbed you, just... I've been doing that a lot. Seeing her in others. If you see her, could you give this number a call?"

It was a bit rapid, nervous and softly Southern, so words might have blended together, but Noli would pay that no mind. Instead she'd pull one of the many fliers out of her stack to pass to the blonde, a slight smile would grace a hopeful face, maybe at least one person in this city would or could help.

Nearly a month had passed since Ash Wednesday and with that her sister's disappearance, something Noli was still trying to figure out. From going back and forth to home, papering the city with a missing person's flyer, to hounding her uncle at the Sheriff's department; Noli had yet to make any kind of progress, especially with her uncle, but she would rectify that at a later time. For now, she would continue to walk the streets of the city, hoping to spot her wayward sister.

Not that she had any luck in the past few weeks, but Noli was very much a stubborn woman. So much, in fact, it would lead to countless mistaken identities, who knew there were that many blonde women around. She should not have gotten her hopes up again as she chased after the latest in a string of 'not' her sister blondes, but before she could stop herself after she realized her mistake, her thin fingers landed on the shoulder in front of her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." An apologetic smile flashed easily as the flash of some unknown emotion crossed through her uncovered eyes. This time, however, instead of turning on heel and moving through the thickening crowd, Magnolia took a chance with the paper in her hand that pictured her sister's likeness and pertinent details. "You wouldn't have happened to see this woman around, have you?"

The guy won’t stop talking, droning on and on about this, that, and the other. Gideon has his game face on, but he’s mentally dismembering the man, starting with the jaw. Even when Quinn approaches, he doesn’t break eye contact, for fear of it prolonging this conversation.

Finally, Chuck walks away, but not before offering a nod and smile to the Messenger. Breathing a lofty sigh, he turns to Quinn, opening his mouth to question her just as his phone vibrates. He stops, the words heavy on his tongue, and pulls the phone out. Again, his brow quirks, and his gaze finds hers with a chastising glint.

“About damn time. Although next time, it might be better in person. I don’t know if I’ve masked it well or what, but I don’t trust random messages from random numbers.” A smile graces his features, telling of his joking manner.

All in all, it had taken about a month. He’d snuck away, taken measurements, failed, and failed again. He’d poured every bit of concentration he possessed into making it perfect. He’d swallowed a lot of pride and took a lot of criticism to come to the finished product. There’s nothing fancy about it; in fact, it’s almost crude.

Standing outside the door, he hesitates, glancing down at the small box clutched firmly in his hand. Simple and black, encasing the most precious thing he’s ever put work into. Would it be enough? He’s never done this before, but he’d researched Valentine’s Day, and it was a day to be celebrated among couples.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes the door open. The sight that greets him brings a warm smile to his face. More often than not, he finds her with her nose in a book, and it’s become a very endearing sight for him. He approaches quietly and presses a long kiss to the top of her head before his eyes rove over the table-top s’mores. Quirking a brow, he takes his seat and picks up his card. Fingers graze the edge of the envelope as he ponders his own gift. Finally, he sets the small box carefully in front of her. No words come, he merely watches her face intently.

Inside, she would find a silver ring, with two bands twisted together until they formed a circle. The inside was smoothed over, so as to fit comfortably against her finger, and he’d even gone so far as to engrave it. Not an easy task, mind you.

Dempsey rifled through her clothes before deciding on a simple long sleeve shirt and a pair of loose fitting jeans. It wasn’t anything spectacular but it was something Dempsey would feel comfortable in on this outing. Usually Dempsey over thought about what she was wearing and overdressed to compensate for her total lack in social skills. She looked well put together and even fashionable at times, but she felt like a monkey in a suit. Always uncomfortable in the clothing that was too tight, jabbing into her hips and bust. Today she didn’t feel the need to wear something fanciful, she just wanted to be comfortable and be a part of her true self while she was drinking juice with Quinn.

Dempsey snapped a picture of herself, wild curly hair and bright hazel eyes, and sent it off to Quinn. Followed by a simple text saying ‘See ya soon.” Nothing more, nothing less. It was the best that Dempsey could to and she was rather proud of the casual tone that went along with the message. Maybe Dempsey was more normal than she allowed herself to think she was.

Satisfied, the woman grabbed a large warm, coat and wrapped it around her body before leaving her apartment and locking the door behind her. She was headed to the meeting spot early so she could sit and write in her journal as she waited for her friend.

Thank goodness the response message came back relatively quick. Dempsey had been rocking on the edge of her bed in anticipation for her response. She half expected a wrong number and half expected there to be some type of confusion. Quinn, however, seemed to know exactly who the message had been from and had answered back with a destination in mind. That was a good thing, Dempsey wasn’t sure where one went to get juice with friends. A diner sounded a good choice and she was pleasantly surprised by her excitement. She was ready to see her ‘friend’. She wanted to know more about her, she wanted to know everything there was to know about Quinn.

Quinn (friend?)
Swell.
An hour? Or whenever.

She hit send then dropped her phone to the comfort of her mattress. If she was going to be going out in public she not only needed to look presentable, she also needed to get mentally prepared.

Dempsey had avoided texting Quinn from pure lack of knowing what to send. She had written at least 15 drafts in her leather journal before slamming it in frustration to search the internet for advice. It wasn’t much help. Dempsey had never once tried to text another human being, she hated even owning a phone. The device allowed people to trace her whereabouts at any given time. The only reason she had caved, was to uphold the illusion of a normal 20 something year old woman. Phones were as much of an accessory as purses or earrings were nowadays. Dempsey would have gladly waited to hear from Quinn, but in her foolish awkward encounter she hadn’t given her number to Quinn in exchange when they last parted ways. Honestly, Dempsey was nervous, this hunt was so very different than the others she had taken part of. She had never actively tried to seek out someone but it was her best hope at staying close to the person called her friend.

Quinn (friend?)

Quinn was currently the only contact in her phone. She hadn’t been sure what to put when she entered the number so she settled on naming what relation they had; in case anyone where to ever get a hold of her phone.

Juice?

It was a rubbish text and after she had sent it she berated herself for the one word text. She hadn’t even said it was from her, but she wasn’t going to send a follow up text. She had read somewhere that consecutive text messages could be misinterpreted. Dempsey left it at that and slide the phone back into her pocket before collapsing on her bed in embarrassment. She was never going to text again.

Gideon watches as she turns to go. The shrinking part of his humanity wants to call out to her, but it’s quickly stifled. For him, her outlook is selfish, and incredibly, forcibly naive. His mind is still reeling from the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

He lights a new cigarette between his lips before leaning over the sink and rubbing at his face. The fact of the matter is that they will never see eye to eye on this. Quinn will always have her ideologies, and Gideon will always have his experiences. Her purposeful refusal to see anything but good in even the worst of people is enough to fray his mind at the edges. Yet, there’s no getting her to see reason. She’s experienced atrocities of her own, yet still believes there’s good in the people that committed them.

With himself, as well. He kills people, brutally. She chooses to believe that it’s because of the childhood he had. While that’s probably true, it doesn’t excuse his actions, and he finds it fascinating that she seems to think it does. It’s as if there’s no line that can’t be crossed when it comes to Quinn; she’ll always find an excuse. Most see it as a good thing; sweet, innocent Quinn, she needs to be protected. Gideon has seen, first hand, what she is capable of, thus, this line of thinking comes off as a weakness that needs to be corrected.

If she wants to run with the wolves, she needs to learn to think like them.

Again, his expression is pained as he pulls away from her touch. All this human contact is starting to weigh on Gideon; it’s the most he’s had in years. In the back of his mind, he misses the reclusiveness of living alone. There’s so much freedom when you only have yourself to worry about. It’s not as if he doesn’t love Quinn, or that she’s not worth all the changes in his life. He’s just...tired.

Her next words produce a scoff from him, and he turns back to look at her expectantly. She’s kidding, she has to be. However, she doesn’t seem to falter, and he gives an incredulous snort. “Right. I suppose I deserved what my parents handed me, then. It was probably what I gave them, right? From infancy, I gave them negativity, abuse, and neglect, or at least something equally as unkind, and that’s what I got in return.” He chuckles darkly, still floored by such a perspective on human interaction. “You seem to have the human psyche all figured out, so what am I worried about. You did your duty, your responsibility, so go have fun with your newfound friend. Seriously,” he adds, his black gaze meeting hers with a hard stare, “I want to be alone.”

He considers her for a moment, noting the way her eyes keep darting to the trash can and back to him. Ah, that’s right; they’d never discussed his habit. Suppressing an ironic laugh - it’s certainly not the worst of his vices - he forces his own stance to relax as she approaches. Their eyes meet, and he can’t help but notice how cautious she’s become.

You are my plan.

A frown forms, his shoulders sagging slightly as he sighs. “I don’t want you stuck here all the time. This is my history, my responsibility, and you don’t deserve to lose yourself...” Like I do, he almost let’s slip, but manages to bite his tongue. “That being said, I also don’t want you being naive about the people you meet. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you don’t attract the best stock. That, coupled with your inability to properly judge people... well, it’s cause for worry.” His attempt at a smirk resembles more of a strained expression of muted pain.

A half-smoked cigarette hangs loosely between his lips, almost forgotten, as he stares forward. This isn’t the kind of tired that’s in his head or wracking his body; it’s his very existence that’s simply exhausted. A large stone has taken residency in his stomach, and nothing gets rid of it. Bad things are coming, he can feel it.

The door creaks open, and he visibly shakes himself. Outwardly surprised to see Quinn, he subconsciously takes a drag of the cigarette that had long gone out. Sighing, he flicks it into the trash before letting his gaze fall to his wife. Her stance seems hesitant, and he cants his head to the side.

Gideon reads the message over and over again, his eye twitching at the corner. He types out many responses, deleting each one, as they’re too sarcastic, too blunt, or both. When he finally settles on one, it’s with a sigh and pinch at the bridge of his nose.

Quirk
That’s not what I meant, and I choose to believe that you knew that.
I’m not going to tell you no, but I do think the whole thing isn’t a good idea. You have a tendency to ignore the bad in people.

Dempsey watched with quirked interest as Quinn scribbled down information on a piece of paper she had extracted from her bag. Once she handed it over to Dempsey, the curly haired brunette made sure to exam the paper with great interest before pulling her notebook from her bag and slipping the piece of paper between the pages like a bookmark before dropping the book back into her bag for safe keeping.

The idea of texting someone to set up a meeting was a bizarre concept to Dempsey but she figured she could learn about it at a different time. The offer to escort Quinn to get food at this present time was tempting but Dempsey felt that she had had enough social interaction for one day. She was looking forward to going home to a hot bubbly bath where she could sit in quiet and write in her journal about the day’s events. She had many thoughts about Quinn that needed to be recorded down before she forgot it all.

“Um…I guess I’ll text you. Maybe. Yes. I will. I will text you.” Dempsey finally let her eyes find Quinn’s face as she forced a smile to her lips. “Right now I should go home. I need to go home. My fish is hungry.” That was a lie, her fish wasn’t hungry, but it was the best excuse she could come up with.

Quinn finally let go of the hug and Dempsey felt a wave of relief drench her like heavy rainfall. She admitted that she did like hugging Quinn, but it was unnatural to her and set her nerves on age. Her anxiety was going haywire from so much social interaction but Dempsey attempted to keep her disorders in check. To stop herself from outwardly cringing or twitching, Dempsey simply rubbed her pointer fingers against the pads of her thumbs, directing all her nervous energy into that movement so her face remained calm and peaceful to the oblivious eye.

“I’ve never had coffee.” Dempsey had been advised by a former therapist that coffee would only amp up some of her symptoms, it would increase her heart rate and make her ten times more jittery than she normally was as a teenager. Dempsey had never wanted to test the doctor’s theories and had steered clear of the addictive liquid for her entire life. She hadn’t listened to her therapist about alcohol, and soon found out that after a drunken night at 16 she would have to swear off the stuff for good. Her molecular makeup was screwed up enough without the added jolts, so she avoided coffee.

“I was told not to drink coffee, but perhaps we could go for juice. I like all types of juice. Apple, orange, cranberry, grape, otai…” Dempsey’s words drifted off as she let her eyes wander away from pretty Quinn. She was miserably failing at this friend thing.

Dempsey sucked in her bottom lip, her head was canted to the side and her brows were furrowed at Quinn’s words. Was it really this simple to be friends with someone? Why did people always seem to make it so difficult? It always seemed like such a complicated task, meeting people and liking them enough to be friends with them. Dempsey only ever liked people enough to kill them, but if it was this easy to make friends why did people always complain about being lonely? Perhaps it was just Quinn that was good at making friends, she was pretty, and likable, and easy to talk to. Maybe people were drawn to people like Quinn, Dempsey certainly was.

The sad truth was that Dempsey would agree to be friends with Quinn, but she wasn’t sure what would come of it. Were they supposed to text each other? Have sleep overs or go out to bars? She would say she was Quinn’s friend, but it was just a word. Dempsey didn’t know how she would actually live up to the expectation of it all. However, her void was being filled and perhaps this would make it easier to be closer to Quinn, easier to watch her, and become an expert on the young woman. Being Quinn’s friend would open the gateway to stalking her, Dempsey wouldn’t have to sneak around or make copies of house keys. She would simply be in her presence as a means of being friends.

No. People don’t stalk friends. Right?

“I’d like to be your friend too.” A genuine smile stretched across Dempsey’s lips but her hands twitched at her sides. Should they shake, or high five, maybe a hug would be best. It seemed that hugging was what people did when they were friends, so Dempsey would try that. With stiff arms and some hesitation, Dempsey leaned closer and awkwardly wrapped her arms around Quinn in something she wasn’t sure could be considered a hug.

Dempsey was going to have to do some reading up on what it meant to be friends. She wasn’t certain how to feel like a friend, but she could look the part on the outside at least if she studied enough about it. The first thing Dempsey needed to learn was how to properly hug somebody, because currently she had been holding onto Quinn for multiple agonizing minutes of discomfort and she wasn’t sure when to let go.

She was so close, maybe a foot away if that, and Quinn didn’t seem to notice in the slightest they were exchanging the same air, when one breathed it out the other sucked that same oxygen right back into their lungs. It was almost the most intimate thing between people, sharing the same air, inhaling and exhaling bits and bobs of one another. Dempsey only ever got this close to people she was killing, and it reminded her of the empty space she had in her gut from the absence of Thomas. Quinn, seemed to fill that empty space just a little, and Dempsey hadn’t had one thought about killing the woman.

Well…maybe one or two but that was during their first meeting when she had first come into contact with her. Those thoughts of murder had easily slipped away while she sat at the bar listening to the woman talk. There was something so incredibly pure and innocent about Quinn that Dempsey didn’t want to rid the world of. There needed to be more people like pretty Quinn in the world, not less.

A friend? Hmm…

That was new. Dempsey had never really had a real friend, and it made her stomach go all knotty and tumble with butterflies as the blonds words echoed back in her thoughts. ‘Quinn thinks I’m nice, a friend.’ Dempsey stood there staring for a moment, letting the words roll around her brain as she tried to determine how to respond. Demps didn’t know what it was like to be friends with someone, but she supposed that talking would be considered a good start.

“Yes, I liked talking. Talking with you I mean…too.” Great foot in mouth, perhaps Quinn wouldn’t notice. “I’ve never had a friend Q.” She didn’t mean to say the last part out loud but it had somehow managed to slip out anyways.

Pretty Quinn turned to face Dempsey, a hand was upon her arm as if to stop the intruder. The blonde turned and Dempsey smiled at her exclamation at crossing paths with her. She had only briefly spoken with Quinn at the bar but Dempsey found her very tolerable and couldn’t resist approaching her when she saw her on the street. It was very unlike Dempsey to seek out company, but Quinn was a friendly face. Dempsey wasn’t truly trying to steal from Quinn, she just wanted to get close to her, but after she had been following her for many blocks, she felt the urge to touch her. The blonde had noticed the advance though, and now Dempsey was standing nose to nose with her.

“Yes, it’s me. “ Dempsey said with a crooked grin, her head was ****ed to the side as she attempted to decipher the woman’s facial expression. Alert? Surprise? Excitement? People were hard to read.

Quirk
Fine, but I do not trust him. I don’t want you alone with him at any point. And you need to trust me on that. I’m completely going against my gut here for you, so please, don’t make me regret this.

Quirk
We went back because we were in danger. You wanted to be at the compound because then we’d have constant eyes on us and they’d notice anything out of place. Don’t change the reason simply to fit your criteria. You said he was dangerous, so tell me, what’s changed? I’m not going to stay here and watch you get hurt.

Quirk
You’re not giving me a reason to trust you. Because what you’re telling me is that the man that forced us into a cult for safety is now nothing to be worried about. The same man that - regardless of if he was going by Tiber or Tiberius - sent us heads AND did unspeakable things to you. So tell me honestly, why do you want to stay here with him?

Quirk
He’s not dead, so no it’s not okay. We never should’ve come here. Don’t leave anyone’s sight, I’m coning to get you and we’re leaving. He’s lucky the Does are here to protect him, if only because I don’t want them to have to clean up the mess.

She’s offering him an out, and more than anything, he wants to take it. He’s typing out an apology, coupled with a promise to make it up to her. Just as he’s about to press send, he hesitates, thumb hovering anxiously. She’s already prepared, she’s obviously excited. If he takes this away from her, there will be resentment later.

Having made up his mind, he holds down the back button, replacing the message with a new one.

It comes off a little gruffer than he intends, and his shoulders sag infinitesimally. There is no scenario that he can come up with in which this goes well. Adding alcohol to the mix of his muddled brain would only prove to worsen the matter, that he’s sure of. Quinn knows all of this, however, or at least she should. Honestly, her insistence, her damn persistence, is frustrating.

His smile falters, and he preoccupies himself with flipping idly through the pages of a book on the counter in front of him. He doesn’t want to tell her no, as he’s denied her too much lately. But this mood won’t last, they both know that, and does she really want him around people that care about her when he snaps? No sense in making them worry for her safety anymore than they already should have.

“Quinn,” he begins, regret already deeply etched in every syllable, “you know that’s not a good idea. Not right now.” Gideon turns away, not willing to face the disappointment. Again. “Why don’t you go, though? It’s been a while since you’ve seen Adara, yeah?”

Just as he taps the send button on his phone, he feels hands around his face. For a moment, he tenses, his senses automatically sending him into defense mode. But when his lips are brought to hers, he visibly relaxes for the first time in a while. These mood swings happen, some days being better than others. The calm before the storm, as the saying goes.

“Work seems a harsh term, all things considered.” There’s a smirk playing at his features, telling of his more light-hearted air. Perhaps it’s simply proximity; after all, she’s been gone, and even then, he was...hard to be around, lately. “But you’re the boss. So what would you have me do instead?”

His head slants slightly as he ponders her message. Adara wouldn’t even know that they were together, would she? Not to mention if she even remembers him; he spent most of his short time in the Den keeping to himself.

Quirk
Are you sure she wasn’t just inviting you? I doubt news of our relationship is widespread.

Gideon hesitates again. Yes, she’s just gotten back but he can sense the way she lit up just by her exuberant text message, and he doesn’t want to take that away from her. He knows he can’t go; honestly, he doesn’t want to. For one, he’s not in a good headspace, and as much as he appreciates the Lycan’s Den and what the Does provided in his short time there, he can’t stomach that sort of social interaction. Then there’s the Flock to think of as well.

I will leave all wedding plans to youBut it has to be at night.It would be a mess if not.Allergic to sun and all.Do you think he is more of a night person?I hope so.I can find out where Tiber is.I think.Also, if the mean one bothers you.I will just eat him.Or something like that.

You canna marry me.You are already married!Wait.Do you mean you will marry us?Can you do that?Will he know or are you tricking him?He should probably have a choice.With or without a kilt.Though, a kilt would be nice on a beefcake.I am in New York.Not at the Den.Sort of.Tiber is in my phone.How is Tiberius a dog?OH. He is THAT kind of DOG?I like those kind.If it is that kind.Sol is not here.I think he should be.If we are getting married.

Only one person.Just...Sol.And only to put flowers on him.It is not weirdWait.You said sweet.We can go with that.How am I gonna marry Sol?Oh, but a fireman is good.I tend to set things on fire.Not really myself.That much.I am totally on board with your matchmaking.But will he be?Also, Tiber said Tiberious is a dog.That smells.Is that true?

TibGiduinnIt is French.I am half-French.Maternally.Though she was not quite maternal.She might have turned me into the person I am today.And then I killed her.But that is off topic!Sol.Yes, Sol. Beefcake.I could agree with that.Granted, I did not see much.I only snuck in while he slept.Not that I was creepy or anything.I do like his beard.If I must marry, I will marry Sol.Should I get married?It would probably help with not setting myself on fire.

I like batriarchy!Viva la Révolution!Sol seems good.I am going to trust youI will go down with this ship.I learned what shipping was.Television teaches things.So does Siri.And the Google.But it doesna say a word about Batriarchy.But I like it.I know Tiber.TeamTiber for me!But I also know Gideon.TeamGideon too?Why is Tiberius bad?Do many people marry two people at once?Are you sure he is a virgin?Sol is too pretty for that.It is the beard.Is that obsessive?

Catholics are insane.I know this.Because I am one.Was?Can you still be Catholic if you have demons?Birds are good.I like all animals.Animals are not bad.Except this one time.Monkey bad.Is Sol good?Not bad?Is Sol a good choice?Moonshine?Tiberius?Tiberius is not bad.Moonshine is.You know Tiber?

I asked the Siri.Religious people who kill.I know about these things.I am Catholic afterall.I do not think Solomon is Scottish.But he might enjoy a kilt.You should ask him that too.I was once married.More than once.I am not so good with the choosing.You pick for me next time.Are you still doing the bad, mad, sad, Giddy stuff?Maybe he should help with the choosing.

How are you different?Who is Jim Jones?Is this about Jack?I doona know about potatoes.I am not Irish.Better, I am Scottish!Not sure about Solomon.I would hope not, the beard is too pretty.Maybe you should ask before I commit?This is your job now.I do not know you.But you seem pretty capable.You did get married after all.

Who is different?I cannot remember.You and Gideon?or you and I?Yes, I agree the Irish are quite angry.You must know the Wee Irish.She is pretty fiesty.Not sure she likes potatoes.Maybe potato shaped humans.I doona think I can marry Solomon.He seems to be involved with Jack.Who is Jack?This is also important.What did google say?

How do you have a kind of husband?You do not have to answer that.I actually get it.More than most.Except for the Irish one.But thassa whole nother storyHey, my phone is slurring for me.Neat trick, that.I KNOW A SOLOMON!But doona tell him.His beard is glorious.I made it flowery once.Issa secret.Is he a lumberjack? or ax murdery?

Drunk QuinnRead? What? Confused.But I do love that book.Edmund is bad in it. Terrible brother.Not that I would knowOnly child. Are you?Wait. Gideon? I think I know one.Do you know the Den?Bad is monkies. Not bad is television.I do like it. A lot.Especially Woodcarvers.Axes, beards, maybe I have a type?I once knew a beard with flowers.That was good too.

The next couple texts ding through, one after the other, and he reads them a few times to let them sink in. There's a touch of shame in his gaze as he thinks on it, realizing how distrustful and accusing he's being. He'd told her to go out and have a good time, only to demonize her upon her arrival back home. No wonder she needed the time away.

Quirk
Don't worry about it, and you don't need to pay me back. I'm just glad you had a good time.

His eye twitches lightly as the unbidden thought broke through. He doesn’t want to believe it’s true, but she seems extra wordy. Regardless, it seems like a ridiculous excuse for nearly a grand. He doesn’t have the energy to argue, however, instead opting to confront it with mild disbelief.

Quirk
That seems like a lot, considering the commune isn’t that far from New Orleans.
You got gypped.

It isn’t as if Gideon is comfortable with the situation; the idea of her off on her own is nothing short of anxiety-inducing. But he also doesn’t want her losing her mind, which, if he’s being perfectly honest, isn’t so far-fetched in their current predicament. He knows that she’s tip-toeing, almost as if she expected him to shoot her proposal down.

She needs to have fun, to remember that it isn’t always bad.

He keeps it light-hearted to indicate his resolve in the matter, so she can calm down and let loose for one single night.

Quirk
Just don’t let Ella talk you into her weird fetish. Be safe and have fun.

Quirk
Okay, first off, Jesus doesn’t own owning donkeys. And his mother rode a donkey to Bethlehem, it’s hardly the same.
Second, even if Jesus did own donkeys, they were normal sized, not adorable miniatures.
Third, and honestly, most important, Jesus didn’t kill the donkey’s entire family and feel guilty enough to adopt it. So. We own a donkey now.

Quirk
Hypothetically, what's the punishment if I adopt a small animal? I'm thinking not heavy, right? Because really, you were the one that was talking about adopting seven puppies, and to be honest, I think Eclair and Cheeto need a friend.
I may have made a poor decision today.

Her response procures a quirked brow this time. There are only a select few times over the course of their admittedly short relationship when he’d genuinely upset her. With a sigh, he resigns himself to his fate of, ironically, the doghouse.

The tell-tale Read flashes up at him, but it’s not followed immediately by the three dots, indicating a reply would be coming. A groan escapes him; she’s upset. It isn’t as if it’s not true... A single puppy, and she’s already forgotten the terrible loss of their own. But that doesn’t make him any less of an ass for bringing it up.

Quirk
We’ll go to a shelter tomorrow. In the meantime, no dogsitting. I hate that dog’s face.

Jameson has been tasked. Well, it's not really a task, per say. More like, some smelly werewolf who lives in the mansion upstairs had insisted that he take these odd looking severed heads and deliver each of them to a respective patron. The Doctor doesn't quite understand why, but he doesn't actually care in the least. Tiberius, as he had introduced himself, had paid him a pretty penny to see that the deed got done.

Whatever. It worked in his favor.

He doubted that the mutt had expected him to put his own spin on the delivery, however. Jameson waited until the guy fled to go out and find some pretty pink boxes. White ribbons would accompany the painted cardboard- tied at the top into fancy, frilly bows. There's no way that any unsuspecting victim would come to realize what was actually inside of the box until it had been delivered.

Deranged doesn't even begin to encompass Jameson Orlav. To each person he drops off a box. While they're away, of course. His last encounter inside the house had brought immediate trouble for Ella. He would look to avoid that this time, if it was possible.

To Gideon, Quinn, and Ella herself. Inside each of their rooms they'd find a box. For Quinn and Gideon, their room would house two.

For Quinn;
The second head saw bare lips, eyelids naked but with full rouge. With his fingers, Tiber smeared the cream over the hollowed cheeks of the woman, imitating a full scarlet blush. This head was going to Quinn Harper. The only woman who had ever succeeded in making him whole. Quinn always pulled warmth from within the icy pits of him. She gave his life purpose, and chipped away at him until all that was left was love and affection.

And yo, there's no sign that Jameson has been here. Just so we're clear. Let's all relax on the coronary front for now.

Tiber reread text many times after it had come in on his phone. At first he thumbs a fast reply. Okay. Always ready to do as Quinn pleased. A simple word communicated from her and he could be gone. But it's not that easy. He's not as strong as the urges inside of him. He isn't as formidable as the other half of his existence that continuously fought for or dominance over his body and his mind.

The next reply was longer, and more defiant. I can't, and I won't. Tiber deleted that one, too, after threatening to crush the phone beneath the brute strength of his bare hands. It takes him hours to decide whether he would respond. It would be easier if he didn't. His fight has almost burned out entirely, flickering heartily from both ends of the stick.

Almost.

Quinn
I can't stop him, Quinn.

There is no universe that exists where Quinn wouldn't understand what he meant. Somehow he would need to find a way to convey that remaining out of sight was the best that he could do to keep her safe. For now. But there was no place for him to hide. There never had been.

Out of his peripheries, he watches as Quinn reads the note. Her body language shifts, taking her even further into the defensive. He welcomes her easily into an embrace, attempting to soothe her while he himself is incredibly tense. His eyes are trained on the crumpled paper, mind racing at one hundred miles a second.

"I won't let him get you, Quinn. You're safe here, with me."

There's hardly a line Gideon wouldn't cross when it comes to the woman, short of directly causing her bodily harm. Should Tiber choose to reappear, he can't guarantee his reaction. There's never a moment of rest for them, and Tiber is poking the sleeping bear in the eye.

We're not going to waste any time on the 'how's. Straight to the point, was that Quinn would arrive back in her room. Wherever it was that she was staying, because honestly it did not matter.

Where Quinn Harper went, Tiber was never far behind. Even if he was, like a ghost over her shoulder, he was there.

When she arrived, she'd find a note folded delicately upon her pillow. It would be easy to overlook since the creamy color of the paper blended with the pale fabric of the pillowcase. A messy scrawl on the inside would be identifiable right away.

Don't forget me.
I'm sorry.

Tiber could do his best to try and stop Quinn from whatever it was she was about to do.
But he owed her this. Her freedom.

The name picked, he focuses all attention on her as she takes her place at his side. An arm hooks under and around her, pulling her as close as possible as he listens to her qualms. He presses his lips to her forehead for a long moment, putting all the appreciation in the world into the gesture, before responding.

"I've never had a lot of things before I had you. I've never had a party period, so you're already doing more for me than anyone else. I've never received a gift before this one," he gestures to the sleeping kitten, smiling fondly down at her. "There'll be plenty of chances for future surprise parties. Don't fret, mi alma." The term of endearment slips his tongue without him even realizing. He brings that out of him, that comfortable feeling.

The response catches him off guard, and it's all he can do to hold her gaze. Instead of words, he conveys his appreciation and admiration by pressing a kiss to her forehead for a long moment before wrapping her up in an easy hug. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," is muttered into her hair. He's painfully aware of how good she is, and people like Gideon don't often get graced with that kind of beauty. He'll do all he can to bask in that light.

When he finally pulls away from her, their fingers intertwine once more, as he's not willing to fully break contact. Flicking on the light, the better to actually see, he pulls Quinn over to the counter to show off their plunder. "I got all your unsavory requests. And your cookie dough is in the fridge. How would the birthday girl like to begin?"

His shoulders sag noticeably, as if the idea of hurting her is physically weighing on him. It wasn't his intention to come off so coldly; this kind of interaction is practically foreign to him. Gideon tends to look at things logically, and logically, they wouldn't have become so attached in such a short amount of time.

On the other hand...

Shaking his head, he approaches slowly as she speaks. With careful hands, he takes the puppy from her and sets him on the floor, where he is more than content to explore his surroundings. While his heart is beating painfully in his chest, he ignores it and instead places a gentle hand under her chin. He presses a soft kiss onto her lips, conveying complete adoration in the simple gesture. This time, it is a few moments before he pulls back slightly, his gaze searching her face in hopes that he hasn't crossed a line.

He can smell her before she's even approached him. Tiber knew Quinn was here. It had everything to do with his decision to seek out Ella Donovan in the first place. He was unsure of the way Quinn would react, but it bore no weight against the decision he had made to find her and be with her. There is a sense in which Quinn knew this, of that Tiberius could be sure. It was only a matter of time before she reached out in one respect or another. Good or bad.

And here she was.

Quinn's scent is still as intoxicating as Tiber remembers, the very essence of her igniting an eagerness inside of him and consuming his body in a blaze. But his elation is extinguished as quickly as it had arisen, as the shaky unsurety of Quinn's voice sticks a pin through the heart of his jest. The man had expected nothing less, but her eternal heartbreak would never upset him any less than the first day he had come to recognize both fear and anguish behind her once beloved stare.

Because of him.

"Quinn..." Tiber breathes life into the only word that could swell his heart. A sensation that would never beseech him. Though she refuses to meet his eyes with the soft light of her own, he still gazes down upon her, studying all of the things about her that had changed. Her shoulders seemed more square. She stood taller, and with more conviction than before. Had she become harder? Did Tiberius manage to break her spirit?

Of all worldly possibilities, that could not be true.

"Quinn, look at me." It is a simple demand, soft but firm. Tiber is more unsure than ever about Quinn's reception. But no matter her reaction, nothing would surprise him.

The pang in his chest was unfamiliar, and he had to read the text a few times to full register it. You'd never lie to me, right? You're a good person, and good people don't lie. He wanted so badly for that to be true... Something about Quinn and her innocence brought that out of him.

~*~ Ella had started to find a minuscule of entertainment at the number of creases in her ceiling. It was this moment she realized that she needed her own people in her sanctuary. The Order had all the people she knew, except for a very select few. She reactivated her Tinder page, and changed the About Me to reflect what she was looking for exactly. She needed a second hand person to be with her. That wouldn't mind her questionable obsession about Jameson Orlav. The friendly face lights up on her screen. Quinn? She looked nice. Grinning she swiped right. Only hoping that perhaps this nice looking Quinn would think she looked nice too. ~*~

For prose that soars higher than the pines, but stays true to it's roots. For daring to branch out where few writers would ever go. For true horticultural excellence. I bestow upon you the coveted Gold Star!